Valiant Reign

by Brooke Sivendra

  “There’s something on the other side of this door. I can’t open it,” Reed said quietly. He quickly counted the doors in the hallway. Six doors remained. He moved to the next one, his heart thumping in his chest with every step he took. He kept the scanning device in his hands, but that was no guarantee. A tripping mechanism could be anything—and substances like fishing wire were hard to detect. Reed’s device would detect the bomb it was linked to, but it might be too late.

  He paused at the next door and scanned it. Nothing.

  Here goes, he thought as he put his hand on the door knob, turning it. He didn’t dare breathe.

  The door opened to reveal another empty room. His eyes swept from left to right, floor to ceiling. Nothing.

  Next door.

  One foot in front of the other, Reed crept along the hallway. He focused on his breathing, refusing to allow his mind to run away with worst-case scenarios.

  He scanned the door, and when he didn’t receive an alert he slowly pushed it open. Reed wondered why the first door he’d approached had been a sliding door, and from what he could see from his position, the rest seemed to swing open. Had it been pure luck that he’d approached the door first? If he’d gone to the room next to it, he almost certainly would’ve been killed the second he opened the door.

  He shook his head as if to shake the fatal scenarios from his mind. Right now, he needed only to think about what was in front of him.

  He pushed the door open, revealing another empty room—but this time he noted more unusual impressions on the carpet.

  “James, he was here. There was a small bed or crib in this room. I’m almost certain of it,” he said, angling his chest so that Samuel would be able to see the impressions via his camera.

  “Agreed,” James said.

  Reed went to move to the next room when he smelled it: the unmistakable woody scent of something burning.

  “Reed, I have a heat sensor coming from the back of the house,” Samuel said quickly.

  “Confirm, I can smell it,” he said. He needed to move fast, he knew, but the rigging of the house made that impossible.

  Reed eyed the front door, moving carefully toward it, then ran the scanner. When he didn’t receive an alert, he slid the bolt and opened the door. He paused, waiting for a reaction, but the house didn’t go up in flames.

  He looked back to the hallway. He couldn’t see the smoke yet, so he had some time, and he had an exit through the front door.

  He ran back to the door he’d been ready to open, careful to trace his steps.

  Reed wedged the door open and his eyes widened in response. Perhaps he’d been wrong about the impressions belonging to a crib, because this room was a nursery. It was all white. White walls, white carpet, white furniture—it was eerily white. He scanned for a trip wire but couldn’t see anything, and so he took one cautious step forward and then another.

  He paused, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the bedding in the crib. It was soaked red.

  “James . . .” Reed started.

  “I see it. It looks like real blood, but I doubt it’s the child’s. They need him for leverage. Keep looking,” James said.

  “Copy,” Reed said.

  His eyes caught the fireplace as he turned to leave, but something made him turn back around.

  “Reed, that fire is growing wild. You have a few minutes at most,” Samuel said, but Reed had already gathered as much based on the smoke filling his lungs.

  Reed inched toward the fireplace, every sense alert and ready.

  He stood in front of it and ran a finger along the join that had caught his attention. It was slightly cracked, pulling apart at the join. Reed knew from his carpentry days—how he’d spent every weekend working while he was at school—that stone didn’t crack like that.

  He ran his finger over it and knew straight away it wasn’t real stone, but rather a laminate of some kind.

  And Reed knew why.

  Reed ran his fingers along the edge, feeling for a latch or button. Nothing.

  He ran his fingers along the top. Nothing.

  He crouched low, peering into the wooden logs. He placed a hand on one and pulled it forward. He heard the click and then the entire fireplace moved, revealing a door below.

  “Reed, you need to get out!” Samuel’s voice came through, urgent and less controlled than usual.

  “One minute,” Reed responded as he heard the soft wailing of a child. He couldn’t give up now.

  Reed coughed and lifted his T-shirt, covering his mouth and nose as he stepped forward. He stood at the top of the stairs, knowing if he went down, they could be rigged. There was also every chance the fire would spread and he’d be trapped.

  But he could hear a child crying.

  Reed’s eyes scanned for wires, cameras, or anything that might set off a trap.

  He moved fast as he could while still being cautious of his surroundings. He couldn’t help the boy if he was dead.

  “Reed,” James said, a warning.

  “I can hear him,” Reed said.

  A moment passed before James answered. “You might not get back out.”

  Reed already knew that. He took a step forward and then another. He pulled a flashlight from his kit, choosing to keep the lights off—it was easier to see fishing wire in the glow of a flashlight than in a well-lit room. The sound of the baby’s cries intensified as he reached the bottom, and then he saw a crib in the corner of the basement.

  He stilled when he noticed the body next to it: a woman sat in the chair with a bullet between her eyes, execution style.

  Reed spun around, sweeping his torch over the basement, but he didn’t hear or see anything. He darted for the light switch, held his breath as he turned it on and exhaled when the basement didn’t blow up.

  Smoke lingered at the top of the stairs, reminding Reed to move—now.

  “Samuel, can you see her?” Reed asked.

  “Copy. Confirm adequate for facial recognition. Get out!”

  Reed darted to the crib, picked up the little boy and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  He rushed into the room and into a wall of smoke.

  He held the baby to his chest, pulling his T-shirt over his head. Reed looked to the flames licking the door frame.

  His pulse raced.

  He looked to the window and ran to it, but his heart sank as he looked at the wire running across it.

  “I’m trapped,” Reed said, his voice a whisper.

  “No you’re not,” James’s response came strong and fast. “Don’t you dare give up now. Look up, is there a trap door in the ceiling?”

  Reed’s head snapped back, spotting the trap door above the window.

  Reed coughed, his lungs suffocating on the acrid smoke.

  “Confirm,” he said, starting to choke.

  “Get into the ceiling and crawl toward the front. Drop into the room closest to the front door. Move!”

  Reed put the baby down on the floor as he dragged a chest of drawers underneath the trap door. He pressed his fingertips up and pushed the cover aside—then, with a hand on each side, he hauled himself up just long enough to see if he could crawl through. The roof was hazy from the smoke but it was Reed’s only option.

  He lowered down, coughing so hard it sounded like he was hacking up a lung. He grabbed the little boy, who was quiet now, his eyes closed.

  Reed shook him gently and he stirred.

  He had to get them out—and he needed two hands to do that.

  Reed grabbed the bloody sheet from the crib and tore it. It was hardly ideal to use as a makeshift baby carrier, but it was all he had.

  “Sorry, kid,” Reed whispered as he wrapped the bloody linen around the baby, securing him to his chest just as a lump of something fell to the floor. Reed didn’t take another look at it; he didn’t want to know.

  With his hands free, he pulled himself into the ceiling. It took everything he had and he remained on his hands and knees,
wheezing.

  “Reed, move!” James commanded, breaking through the haze.

  Reed crawled along the beams as smoke settled into the base of his lungs.

  He was fighting for every breath, and the smoke was filling the ceiling space so quickly he was no longer sure he was even going in the correct direction.

  “The trap doors likely line up. Feel with your hands. Keep moving forward,” James commanded, his voice calm and controlled.

  Reed stayed on the beam, moving as quickly as he could. He swayed and lost his balance, and his arm shot out instinctively, landing on something hot. He didn’t know if it was fire or a light bulb, but he hissed as he pulled his burning hand back. He tried to move forward but couldn’t bear any weight on the hand.

  “Reed, keep going, you’re almost there. Keep going,” James said.

  Reed turned his hand over, crawling on one palm and on the top of his injured hand. He coughed again, his vision blurring.

  Keep going.

  He crawled forward, but he had no idea how far he was actually moving. He didn’t know if he was moving at all. He felt stuck, like the smoke had placed him in an invisible trap.

  “Keep going. One hand in front of the other. Keep moving,” James urged, sounding out of breath.

  Reed wheezed and the beam below him shifted.

  “Keep…”

  He wheezed as he felt the darkness pull him under.

  Asher

  He sat in his office, holding his own breath. He didn’t look at Abi; his eyes were glued to the screen.

  “I’m going in for him,” James said, sounding like he was running. The screen changed and Asher leaned forward, watching the footage stream from James’s camera. Judging by the view, Asher assumed it was fastened to his shirt, but he couldn’t be sure.

  A second footage stream activated in the corner of the screen. Asher narrowed his eyes but he couldn’t see anything. It was like looking out of an airplane window as it flew through the clouds.

  He pinched the back of his neck.

  It didn’t look like Reed was moving at all, and that likely meant the baby was unconscious too.

  “Hurry,” Asher whispered under his breath, and Abi put a comforting hand on his thigh.

  James entered through the front door into a wall of smoke. Asher couldn’t see flames, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Were there none in the hallway? Or was the smoke so thick the flames were veiled?

  James opened a hallway door and cautiously stepped inside.

  Asher heard a beeping noise and his stomach churned.

  “The trap door is rigged,” James said quickly, and it was the closest to panicked that Asher had ever heard him.

  James darted across the hallway and into the room opposite.

  When he swore, Asher felt like James was kicking him in the stomach. They were so close, but the mission now seemed impossible.

  “Jackson, get in here!” James commanded. “First door on the right.”

  “Copy,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  “Jackson is a bomb expert,” Samuel said through the speaker system, answering Asher’s unspoken question, and he wondered once again if Samuel had some kind of device that could read his mind.

  Yet another footage stream flashed up on the screen. Asher’s jaw clenched and he fought the bile rising in his chest. How long had Reed and the boy been unconscious? Even if James reached them, would they be okay?

  “Samuel, we’re going to need full medics on site,” James said, mirroring Asher’s concerns.

  “Already on their way,” Samuel responded calmly.

  “Copy,” James said.

  James and Jackson discussed the rigging of the trap door. Asher didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but he knew how to read someone’s tone of voice—they were worried.

  “There’s nothing I can do from this side. I need to get into the ceiling space, but if I open that trap door there’s a chance this whole house will blow,” Jackson said quickly.

  “What do you think the chances of that are?” James asked.

  A pause followed. “I don’t know. Maybe fifty-fifty. Less if we’re lucky.”

  “Samuel, how are Reed’s vitals?” James asked.

  “Not good, and neither are yours. You need to get him out, or you need to leave,” Samuel said as James sounded like he was suppressing a cough.

  Abi sucked in a breath beside him but Asher couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

  “Go!” James commanded.

  “No, I can help,” Jackson insisted.

  “Go!” James commanded again.

  Asher saw Jackson walk through the front door.

  “Samuel, if—” James started.

  “No,” Samuel said, cutting him off. “Get in and get out. Come on.”

  A painfully long moment passed, and then the camera angled up to the ceiling, indicating James had made his decision.

  “Give her the envelope,” James said as he reached his arms up.

  “Not yet,” Samuel said.

  What envelope?

  Give it to who?

  Asher had so many questions, but he knew now was not the time. Right now he needed to stay quiet and let them do their thing.

  James pressed his fingertips to the trap door, muttered something under his breath and then lifted it. He paused, seeming to brace for impact, but it didn’t come.

  James moved so fast if Asher had blinked he would’ve missed it. And then he was presumably crawling—though given the speed he was moving at, that seemed impossible to Asher.

  Visibility through the smoke was nonexistent.

  “Two more meters, you’re heading straight toward him,” Samuel said, sounding excited.

  James coughed and Asher couldn’t tell if he was moving or not. But a moment later, he said, “I have him!”

  Asher almost stood up and cheered. He looked to Abi, who wore a big smile. Her eyes were straight ahead, watching the footage.

  But, the reality of the situation suffocated his excitement. James still had to get them out of the ceiling space. And by the time he did that, would it be too late?

  “Come on,” Asher thought he heard Samuel whisper.

  “James, you need to move faster,” Samuel said then, loud and clear.

  “I’m trying,” James responded with an odd tone to his voice. Asher couldn’t decide if he was irritated, amused, or losing consciousness.

  “Almost there! Almost there! Faster!” Samuel said.

  When they were through, he heard Samuel breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Medics have arrived, James. Jackson and his team are coming up, they’ll help lift them down,” Samuel said, the calm controller back.

  “Copy,” James said, his voice a wheeze.

  Asher folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, forcing himself to relax. He was going to get a tension migraine if he continued to watch Thomas Security’s missions. He’d witnessed more than enough excitement for a lifetime.

  Multiple footage streams activated on the screen and Asher’s eyes darted from one to the next, watching as James’s men lowered the boy out first, Reed, and then James—who appeared barely conscious.

  Medics rushed in, put them on stretchers, and wheeled them away. The screen went blank.

  “Asher, they’ll be taken to the hospital. James will recover quickly, but Reed and the boy may be there for some time—a few days at least.”

  “Thank you,” Asher said, standing.

  “You’re welcome,” Samuel said. “I’ll keep you updated, but so far the information coming from the ambulance is that the patients are stable. That’s the best we can hope for at this stage.”

  “Thank you,” Asher said again as Abi stood too.

  He grabbed her hand and led her out of the office.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To find Alistair,” he responded, heading toward his brother’s living quarters.

  As they approache
d the kitchen, Abi pulled her hand away.

  “You go and deal with this with Alistair. I’ll wait here,” she said, understandingly.

  Asher kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said before letting her go.

  Abi nodded and gave him a smile.

  Asher strode toward Alistair’s rooms. Security stood outside, indicating he was inside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in his brother’s living quarters. It was realizations like this that made him realize how far apart they’d grown without even noticing.

  A memory flooded Asher’s mind, and he realized he could remember the last time he’d visited his brother. Alistair had been on a bender and, their father having just heard the news, Asher had been sent to tell his brother he was expected at dinner.

  A chill swept over Asher’s spine as he remember the way he’d felt when he’d walked away. But Alistair’s involvement had been explained now; his brother wasn’t a malicious threat.

  Still, Asher felt wary knocking on his door.

  The security guard at the door relayed his arrival and the door opened. Another security guard welcomed him in and escorted him to the living room.

  Asher came to a halt when he saw his mother sitting with Alistair, her eyes red-rimmed. She quickly wiped the tears away. Alistair’s face was impassive, but he sported dark circles under his glistening eyes.

  “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Asher asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

  “No, not at all,” Emilia said.

  “What’s up?” Alistair asked, his throat husky, indicating he was more emotional than his face portrayed.

  Asher watched his brother carefully. “They found him—your son. He’s stable, but there was a fire and they’re taking him to the hospital to treat him for smoke inhalation—”

  Alistair was out of his seat and grabbing his wallet and phone before Asher could finish.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew where he was?” Alistair asked with a hint of accusation in his voice.

  “Because I didn’t know if they would find him alive, or if they could rescue him,” Asher admitted. He didn’t think he’d have been able to watch the footage if it had been his own son.

  Alistair stilled, seeming to let that sink in. “Can I see him?” he asked.